Loe raamatut: «A Cowboy To Keep»

CHAPTER ONE

“LET GO OF ME, FREAK.”

Jackson Cade’s answer was to shove his knee harder into the wanted man’s back, clap on handcuffs, then stand. “On your feet, Butch.” The ponderosa pines surrounding the small white trailer at the foot of Denver’s Front Range rustled overhead.

“Go to hell.”

“Someday,” he responded drily, prodding a shackled Butch toward his truck, his three-week chase over. He squinted when the midafternoon sun reflected off his side mirror and shot him straight in his good eye.

“Don’t you have to read me my rights?” jeered the fugitive as he struggled and yanked against Jack’s grip.

“Bounty hunters don’t have to do anything they don’t want to.”

Jack opened the rear cab door. His scar tightened at his grim smile. Some people belonged in cages; he’d learned that firsthand. He made sure they got there. “And right now, the only thing I’m wanting to do is bring you in.”

The door closed on his slumped captive and Jack ambled to the driver’s side. A pulse of satisfaction beat through him, chasing the shadows that’d consumed him these last two years, though the respite wouldn’t last long. No matter how many criminals he caught, it’d never make up for what he’d done, or failed to do.

You promised, he heard his mother’s cry again as he slid behind the wheel. You promised to keep your brother safe.

His fingers tightened on the gearshift and he revved the engine, as though he could outrun his past, as if his slashed left cheek wasn’t a constant reminder of his crime, as though bringing in another lowlife somehow settled his unpayable debt.

He peered in his rearview mirror, studied the scowling crook behind him and nodded. It helped some. He couldn’t bring back his brother, and hadn’t crossed paths with Jesse’s killer yet, but he’d never stop looking.

He cranked up a Waylon Jennings song and tuned out his cussing passenger as his pickup ate up the miles back to fugitive recovery in Denver. He pulled his hat brim low against the late-May sun, dropping in the west over the range.

Purple haze thickened in the timbered notches he passed. Gray foothills, round and billowy, rolled down from the higher country. They were smooth, sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens that glowed with newly minted leaves. Mount Evans, scarred by avalanche, towered above the valley, sheltering it from the north.

Nice looking country, he mused as he turned onto Interstate 25, though it wasn’t home. He stomped down the marrow-deep ache that sprang up when he pictured Carbondale. His family’s cattle ranch in western Colorado, in the center of the Rockies. No sense wishing for something he’d never get back. Or wouldn’t go back to. Not when he was reminded of his younger brother everywhere he looked and his guilt hung from his neck, a heavy yoke that made it hard to hold his head up. To stand tall.

Thirty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the one-story bond office and cut the engine beside a black Denver Sheriff Department SUV—Lance’s. He’d called ahead, since Butch’s warrant stipulated that he’d enter into custody. A department member had told him an officer would meet him. Could be his cousin had come to do the honors.

Butch spewed another stream of expletives when Jack jerked open the door and hauled him out. When he pressed the door buzzer, Lance opened it with a relaxed air that belied his serious intent, his badge glinting. The creases in his blue uniform were as sharp as knives. He wore that smug, got-you look Jack recognized from their boyhood days. He still had the same freckles and left-sided cowlick.

“Sheriff Covington.”

“Nice work,” drawled Lance, cocking a dark eyebrow at Jack before stepping close to the criminal. “I’ll take it from here. Butch, let’s walk.”

Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle and watched them march to the SUV, satisfied. Justice served. The repeat offender wouldn’t be burglarizing homes in the area for a long while.

He took off his sunglasses and headed inside for his bounty. Considering money from his share of the family ranch revenues was dumped into his account every quarter, he wasn’t in a hurry for a payout. He did look forward to getting his next assignment, though...and returning to his trailer for the baseball game and TV dinner that waited on him.

“Jackson Cade for...”

“I know who you are,” interrupted the secretary. He’d clearly made quite the impression, since he’d only been to this bond office once before, when he’d taken this case. She averted her eyes behind large-framed glasses that covered most of her pinched features. Short little thing, scrawny, shoulders curled in. Fidgety fingers, twisting at her skirt. She snatched up her phone, spoke into it, then pointed down the hall without looking back up at him.

“Kind of you, ma’am,” he muttered, conscious of the office staff’s gazes fluttering his way. The paused conversations. The whispered comments that rose like a chorus when he passed. His jaw clenched. He should be used to this, yet somehow he wasn’t. He seldom ventured out in public anymore, and much preferred being on his own or hunting runaways—the one job where looking this scary worked to his advantage.

“Hey, Jack,” boomed the bond agent, Randall Cook. The gray-haired man smiled and stood, revealing a row of crooked teeth. His line-free face told of years spent indoors crunching numbers, and a touch of pink around his nose hinted at evenings afterward. “Can I get you a drink?”

When Jack shook his head, the talkative man continued, “Was almost ready to call it with Butch. Three other bounty hunters couldn’t nab him. Glad the sheriff recommended you.”

He shifted in his boots, uncomfortable with praise or anything else that called attention to him. “Glad to help.”

“I’ve got another one for you.” Randall shoved a folder across the cluttered table in front of Jack as Jack grabbed a seat. “Bill ‘Smiley’ Reno. Alias Ned Terrill.”

Words jumped out at Jack as he scanned the warrant.

Wanted for drug possession and dealing.

Fifty-thousand-dollar bond.

Known to carry a .45.

Considered armed and extremely dangerous.

A rap sheet that included assault with a deadly weapon, gun possession and armed robbery. Just as bad as he liked them. And he’d been caught with heroin—the same drug that’d ensnared Jack’s younger brother after he’d gotten hooked on oxycodone following surgery.

He shoved the folder under his arm and stood, determination firing through him. “A real sweetheart. I’ll get him.”

Randall pushed to his feet and extended a hand. “I believe you will. There’s more to his story, but I’ll let Sheriff Covington fill you in.”

Curious, he pumped Randall’s hand and strode outside where Lance leaned against his SUV, Butch slumped in the backseat.

“So. Smiley.” Lance nodded at the folder. His mouth flattened at Jack’s nod and he stepped closer. Dropped his voice. “An informant fingered him in the Remy Phillips case.”

The name sounded familiar. It rolled in his mind, then fell into place. He whistled. “The double homicide last month. A home invasion, right? Big society couple.”

Lance’s brow lowered. “Remy Phillips owns the largest investment firm in Denver and it looks like a professional hit. Since our snitch is unreliable and motivated to exchange information for a reduced sentence, I didn’t give it too much credit, especially when Smiley agreed right off to come down to the office to answer questions. Problem is, he never showed. I’d planned on chatting with him the following day at his court date.”

Understanding dawned and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Then he jumped his bond.”

A frustrated breath escaped Lance’s clenched teeth. “Looks suspicious. He’s still just a person of interest, but let’s just say, I’m real interested. Bring him in, Jack.”

“I will.” And he would. Forget the ball game. He had much better plans with Smiley’s family, the last known address for the runaway and alleged killer. It’d been his mission, since Jesse’s murder, to get opiate dealers like this off the streets and make sure no one else died like his brother had.

“Got something else to tell you.”

He turned back to his cousin.

“This is between us. Ballistics and crime scene evidence suggest we’re after two men. A .45 and a 9mm were used at the scene. Plus, the Phillips’ safe was broken into, but the family can’t identify what’s missing. Whoever wanted it hired two pros for the job, so it must be important. I’m hoping that where there’s one...”

“Got it.” Jack nodded. Grim. This case looked better by the minute. He’d always liked two-for-one deals. Technically, he couldn’t bring in the other wanted man, but he’d hold him. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

Lance squinted at the sky. Spoke to the sun. “Keep me in the loop, okay? And, uh, heard the family reunion is at your ranch this year. Want to be my plus one?”

Jack’s gut clenched and he was glad his sunglasses hid his expression. “You’re not my type.”

Lance clocked him on the shoulder. “Come on, Jack. How long before you go home? You know they miss you. Especially your mama. And no one blames you for...for...”

“I blame myself.” Jack swung into his truck and slammed the door. Engine revved, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward Smiley’s address. No sense dwelling on family and loss. Action was what he needed.

And retribution.

He glanced down at his forearm. Black ink sketched out a belt buckle with an intricate pattern, the scripted letters aJc in the center. It was an image of the buckle Jesse had won in a junior bull-riding championship the year before he got hooked on painkillers and then heroin. Every time Jack looked at it, he was reminded of happier times...of what his brother could have been...how Jack wanted to remember him.

When Jack left the ranch to become a bounty hunter, he’d vowed that with enough persistence, he’d someday catch the two lowlifes who’d ambushed him and later killed his brother on a back road. Sooner or later their paths would cross and he’d make them pay.

His pickup bounced up a rutted, dirt drive that ended at a listing two-story farmhouse. A tan-and-white pit bull lunged on its chain, snapping and growling, as he strode past and clomped up the steps. With the sun gone now, he needed to secure this house before Smiley slipped away into the night.

The door swung open before he raised his hand to knock. A sour-faced woman peered at him through the ripped screen door. Her worn-out appearance matched her sagging porch. The color leached out of her face when her flat pale blue eyes rose to meet his. They were a little too wide, not enough blinks. She backed up a step and looked down at the Glock holstered on his hip. Something unpleasant worked on her top lip.

“Wha-what do you want? We don’t want no trouble.”

“I’m looking for Smiley. He here?” The smell of old grease and mold streamed from inside. The pit bull continued barking madly.

She licked her lips. Rubbed her palms together. “Haven’t seen him.” She raised her voice. “Shut it, Tank.” The dog whined and quieted.

He leaned an arm on the soft wood doorjamb. Casual. Just a hint of menace. “Since when? Yesterday?”

Her glance flew to his then dropped. “Can’t remember.”

“Let’s see if I can jog your memory. Mind if I look around?”

“You got a warrant?”

He held it up. “Come in,” she said wearily, and lumbered inside, her large ankles ballooning over her slippers, the hem of her housecoat swinging around her calves.

She let him in right quick, Jack mused. Seemed unlikely his quarry lurked here, then. Still, he checked the place top to bottom before he returned to her kitchen, where she stirred something brown and lumpy in a kettle. Goulash by the smell of it.

“So, where’s Smiley headed?”

Her wooden spoon stopped and she spoke without looking up. “I told you. I haven’t seen him.”

He held his impatience in check. Play this game long enough, you learned the rules. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled his hip against the crowded counter. “You ready to stake fifty thousand on that? What’s this house worth? Maybe they’ll take that, instead, since you cosigned his bond.”

Her mouth dropped open. Worked. She shoved her lank, gray locks off her fleshy face and sighed. “Maybe I did hear something.”

“Tell me.”

“He and some fella stopped by the other night wanting money. Asked for a ride.”

He pressed his lips together and strove to hear his own thoughts over the sudden drumming of his heart. “Who was Smiley with?”

Her brow furrowed. “Ain’t seen him before. Evan somethin’ or another.”

“Evan, or Everett?”

She shrugged. “Could be either, though now that you say it, I think Everett sounds right. Tried not to pay him no mind. A dangerous-looking man. Cold. Real cold.”

In a flash, the room receded, the walls, the floors, the roof, as he peered backward to the night his brother lost his life. He saw the two men who’d concealed their appearance with hoodies and scarves on that cold winter night. Pictured the names of the strangers listed on a local hotel registry that night. One in particular, Everett Ridland, had been a suspect in connection with another murder. The name, an alias, turned out to be another dead end.

“Where’d you bring them?”

“Shawnee.”

“What’s there?”

“Smiley works at Mountain Sky Dude Ranch sometimes. Could be he intended on asking them for money...” Her voice trailed off like the last air from a deflated balloon.

Jack straightened. He’d gotten everything out of her he needed...and more. The chances he’d finally locked onto his brother’s killers rose. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He handed her his card. “You call me if he turns up, now.”

Her hands shook as she snatched the card from him and backed away. “I told him. I said, ‘Smiley, I don’t want no part of any of your shenanigans. Leave me out of it.’ So you’re saying I’m going to lose my house?”

Jack shook his head. “Not if I get him first.”

“Good luck,” she called after him, then she shut the door fast, before he’d even stepped off the porch.

A couple of hours later, he drove through a darkened Shawnee and kept on going until his headlights illuminated the stone pillars holding up an arch that read Mountain Sky Dude Ranch. He glanced at his dash. Midnight. A good time to scout the property. The season wouldn’t have started yet, so no one should be up and about. He didn’t want to explain his presence to anyone in case Smiley or Everett—if it was Everett—got tipped off. His phone call to the owners had gone straight to voice mail.

Leaving his truck, he vaulted over the gate and slipped through the trees. A crescent moon hung low in the star-studded sky. Moving quickly but stealthily, he skirted a pasture of horses, careful not to get too close and spook any. When a number of them lifted their heads and neighed, he froze. Could Smiley and his partner hear that?

After a moment, he glided through shadows and headed for a hay barn. When he grabbed the latch, the unmistakable metallic slide and click of a bullet being chambered behind him sounded.

Reacting on instinct, he ducked, whirled and pointed his gun directly between the prettiest hazel eyes he’d ever seen.